


Closing My Eyes, Remember How We Were Like Gold

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Series: Pynch Drabbles [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (sort of; adam starts to have one but talks himself down from it), Established Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, this is soft tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 00:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12923598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: A drabble about insomnia, sneaking in windows, and feeling lucky.





	Closing My Eyes, Remember How We Were Like Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this while listening to the second verse of Vance Joy's Like Gold (and then I read the lyrics and realized I'd been misinterpreting the song the whole time but fksjfnaks anyway)
> 
> Title from Vance Joy's Like Gold

Adam Parrish, though not one to readily admit it, was an insomniac.

Not in a Gansey way, with sweeping scale models of Henrietta and Welsh magic and silent quests for long-forgotten truth, but in a patented Parrish way.

Sticky sweat from long Virginia summers or deep chills from acute winters, constant reshuffling of a conflicting schedule that warred only with itself, worry about all the things he didn't let himself think about during the day - rent, college tuition, scholarships - these were the things that pitched Adam Parrish into the throes of one sleepless night after the other.

The nights before his practially unheard of days off, like the one now, were always the worst. His body itched with the energy he knew wouldn't be used come morning. 

He picked mindlessly at the skin around his fingers, until blood dotted at his meticulously rounded and cared for nails. 

He'd use the next day to get as far ahead in his school work as he could. There was a Latin test next week he could study for, needed to study for, a paper due in English, another in Chemistry. He had plenty to do. He'd be fine.

 _It's a day of missed work,_ his mind reminded him cooly.

The itching under his skin became a thick crawling that traveled from his arms to his throat. Hot patches of skin flared across his chest, which he scratched at angrily.

"Fucking hives," he hissed under his breath, rolling to face the wall. They didn't come around often, not nearly enough that he worried about them, at least, but he knew when the nervous hives arrived he was propelling himself toward a wholly unhealthy mindset that wouldn't be easy to crawl back out of.

 _Breathe, Parrish,_ he told himself.

Once, before jobs became and fear of the future became practically all consuming, when he was fourteen, fresh to Aglionby, Adam had visited the computer lab a lot. 

He had noticed these fits he'd have, where his mind would spiral and stomach would clench up and his heart would race. He'd been fully convinced he was dying.

It wasn't until he figured out what an anxiety attack was that he convinced himself he was not, in fact, dying - no matter how much it felt like it.

From there, he'd found this video of a soft-faved woman with understanding eyes and a soothing voice to boot teaching him how to breathe through them. He'd devoured the video four times before he had to run home for fear of being late.

He thought back on it now, recalling the woman's voice and the easy way she'd counted out the breaths. This wasn't exactly an attack, but he knew if he didn't calm himself down it would be in a matter of minutes, and cooling down from one of those was infinitely harder - esecially when he was alone in his quiet room with only his raging thoughts to egg him on.

So there lay Adam Parrish, taking in deep, deep breaths through his nose, and exhaling soundly through his mouth to the beat of a voice he hadn't heard firsthand in nearly three years.

It was a normal enough routine, and soon, his heart slowed from the pace he hadn't even realized it'd mounted to, and the no doubt red splotches on his chest receded.

His eyes finally found themselves falling shut, long, translucent eyelashes kissing tired and freckled skin. His impossibly tight shoulders relaxed from their usual fifteen on a one to ten scale to a quiet ten, and he finally drifted to sleep.

He didn't fall into a dream, though, for which he was grateful. They hadn't been sunshine and rainbows lately, and at this rate, even if it was his unconscious being, he couldn't take anymore stress.

Curving in half, Adam slept as soundly as he had in weeks.

It was about an hour later when he barely registered a soft jangling. He was still far enough into the waves of sleep that he didn't crack an eye open at the sound, but he was still weirdly aware of it.

Growing slightly louder, the jangling abruptly cut off, replaced, instead, by a muffled grunt and a slick sliding noise.

Adam's not-quite-awake, but not-quite-asleep mind registered heavy boots hitting the floor in a way that was meant to muffle the sound, but didn't achieve it.

There was another sliding sound that cut off too early, and then a soft, "Jesus, come on."

 _Ronan,_ Adam's subconscious supplied.

The window - because of course, that's what it was - slid shut completely, after having gotten stuck, no doubt, and then boots were discarded under it. A jacket - marked by the tap of its zipper against the floor - and a pair of jeans found themselves discarded next to the boots.

Adam could somewhat feel the bed dip behind him, and then there was the sensation of a soft t-shirt against his bare back, cold feet against his calves, and always surprisingly soft lips against the cluster of freckles he knew rested on the back of his shoulder.

This routine was as familiar as his breathing exercises.

Ronan was as familiar as breathing.

Adam let Ronan draw himself around the arch of his back, let him throw a heavy arm around his waist, let him murmur soft words against the bumps of his spine.

Adam let his ten fall to a five, let a soft sigh escape him, let his eyes stay shut and his mind fall into an even deeper sleep.

He would remember it fondly as a dream the next morning until he felt the arm around his waist and heard the soft snores behind him.

He would roll over, grab Ronan's face with both his hands, and they'd look at one another, still both sleep drunk, and they'd both smile.

And Adam would think how elated he was it wasn't a dream, letting himself have a small reprieve from all the things that threatened to pull him under to lay around and lazily kiss one of the things that kept him afloat.

**Author's Note:**

> adam parrish has anxiety and while being with Ronan does not cure that sometimes it eases his mind thanks for coming to my ted talk
> 
> So the whole point of this little drabble is that I have a big pynch fic I really want to write, but I want to get it Right, and I don't think I could do that rn considering this is literally my first trc fic. So, I'm using songs, or little prompts, and writing short drabbles to try to get a feel for both Adam and Ronan's characters, but also their relationship, (and later on with other drabbles, the gangsey as a whole.)
> 
> If you have any song suggestions/prompts hmu on tumblr @luluthelich ! Also, since I'm actively trying to improve my writing of these characters, constructive feedback is,,, so incredibly welcome and encouraged.


End file.
